Happy Christmas Flying or Off the Track

Since the weather has become snowy and blowy once again this holiday, travelers can relate to the following:
I remember Christmas in my hometown, how I could feel a cold coming on, but I didn't admit it to my husband. I said I was fine. I packed up my daughter to make the plane trip. That was the time the plane, or rather, the pilot decided never to land.
I was looking to land in Madison, near our town in southern Wisconsin, but it was at that point, the pilot made an announcement that he would have to move on to LaCrosse, since the runway was too slippery. Upon arrival at the LaCrosse Airport, the pilot announced that conditions for landing were, again, too slippery; next stop was Minneapolis!
My little daughter was resourceful; I had asked a guy name, Pete, what to do and started following him around. So being the nice fellow he was, my daughter began placing him in a position of "guide". We must not lose track of Pete. He would help us. He would lead us. He would make all things right.
Now, when you're a mom with a little girl, and you've planned on landing in southern Wisconsin only to land in northern Minnesota, you feel something short of desperate.
You get your brother on the pay phone, because cell phones had not yet been invented. A stranger has seen your tears and promised to put you up for the night, even though you've declined, because now, you're wiser than a single age twenty-two embarking on Chicago.
But brother advises you to hold back your tears for the sake of affecting your child and making her apprehensive. He assures you that the reason the pilots chose not to land is that they're smart.
Moments are lost in memory, but somehow, we got back to our original destination My mom shouted out, smiling, "Look at her", meaning my daughter, toddling along.
I embraced a sister-in-law. Later, her son and my daughter played "Tricky Track" and cheered each time the train fell off the track, which is not the object of the game.
The snow was high. Relatives were glad to see me, especially the advising brother, with a lot fuller, darker beard and head of hair than he has now.
The head cold did not get any better. In fact; it got worse. But I kept plugging along just so I could see my people and bring our kids together in the farm and cheese state in which we were all raised. Okay, I wouldn't be surprised if Garrison Keillor's Lake Woebegone was actually our town.
It was worth it, so when my daughter replayed the series of events for my husband on a little pink, plastic car upon her return home,(which became a plane and her, a pilot, in her imagination) she said, "On our way to Grandma's house, no; we're not going to land there. We're going to land in LaCrosse; no, we're not going to land there either. We're going to...Minneapolis!"
These are the kinds of things we love to store in our memories.

The North Pole Dimension

In the stillness of the dark theatre, there was one street lamp like the lamp in the cold winter snow of Narnia*.
In fact, as she began to let her imagination run wild, she noticed the stage becoming colder, and as she looked up at the catwalk, she saw it melt and looked up to see a sky of stars and clouds combined. A cloud moved over the three-quarter moon, concealed it for awhile, then once again, revealed its mystical beauty against the darkness where the stars appeared to pin up the sky.
Little flakes of snow began to fall, downy, softly, sending shivers throughout her body, lacing the stage like Ivory Detergent Flakes.
An ice rink revealed itself, and penguins waddled past her. She thought that was a little peculiar, but took it in stride.
An iceberg came out from stage left of her, and two polar bears began lumbering toward her, three cubs behind them, making her feel downright uncomfortable.
The weather report had been bleak for the midwest, scary, they told everyone. "Stay inside," they cautioned.
But she was inside. She couldn't help it if the outside came to her.
She shivered, drew her ski jacket around her, put on her ear muffs, her hood, and her mittens.
It was Groundhog's Day. The Puxatawny Phil Groundhog came out of yet another snow hill, introduced stage right; he poked out his nose, covered with snow, and looked around.
"He doesn't see his shadow," she cried, "What a relief!"
The groundhog scampered over to her on the set and scurried back into his hole.
The actors came from both wings of the stage and cheered, "We are done with this scene. We can go outside now!"
She thought the actors were a bunch of weirdos.
"What do you call this? This is outside."
"Oh," admonished the director, "That's just your imagination. You get too into your role. Don't do that or you'll go bonkers."
Having broken the spell, she was back on the bare stage under the lamp, wearing nothing but her sweater and light clothes; everybody laughed.
"Ah, you laugh now, but someday, my imagination will come in handy."
Huffily,they all walked off, leaving her on the bare stage, under a lamp in the dark theatre...except for the company of a few understanding penguins.

*C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia.